iRibs
by bsloths
Summary: A dinner at Freddie's house gets a little out of hand. Seddie-ish oneshot.


This was inspired by the newest "Random Debate" on icarly dot com, in which Sam and Freddie argue in a kiddie pool. Also, Freddie feeds Sam a meatball, and, well, this is what that lovely mental image made me write. Darn plot bunny! This is weird, I'm telling you. But I had to get it out of my system. But it's so weird! I'm sorry. I'll stop now. But I had to warn you.

Enjoy (I hope)!

-Brandi

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly. Dan the Man does. And I feel like he might actually be kinky enough to approve of this crazy little oneshot.

**iRibs **

"Aw, man!" Sam continued to bang on Carly's door, despite the lack of results.

Freddie stuck his head out of his apartment and raised an eyebrow at her. "You okay?"

"I was hoping Carly'd be home. My mom's stuck at work and she told me to go buy something for dinner since there's no food in the house. But I don't have any money." Her eyes lit up, but Freddie beat her to her question with a gigantic shake of the head.

"No way, Puckett. You get no more loans from me."

Sam crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine."

Freddie leaned against his doorframe and smirked at her as he opened the door as wide as it would go. "Carly and Spencer went to their grandfather's for dinner. They won't be back until late. You're welcome to eat with Mom and me—"

Sam craned her neck towards his apartment and Freddie could practically see her start salivating at the enticing aroma coming from inside.

Sam put a hand on her hip impatiently as she waited for Freddie to finish his sentence. "There's going to be a catch, isn't there?" she whined.

Freddie rubbed his hands together, pretending to be an evil genius. If he had a mustache he would have been twirling it. "Of course. You'll have to be nice to me for two weeks. That means," he began counting off on his fingers, "No name-calling, no pranks, no insults, and no mean-spiritedness of any kind." He grinned at her triumphantly.

"Forget it, Fredweird. Whatever your mom cooks can't possibly be _that_ good."

Freddie grinned again. "Take another whiff. What do you think we're having?"

Sam stepped closer to the entrance and sniffed the air again. Her face went white and she twitched in recognition. "Not…_ribs_?"

This time Freddie thought he saw an actual drop of drool escape her mouth.

"You are an evil, evil little troll, Benson!"

"So, we have a deal?" Freddie stuck out a hand towards Sam and she shook it after only half a second's hesitation.

Freddie led her into the apartment, and she was finally able to fully appreciate the scent.

"Hey, I never thought your mom would let you eat ribs. Aren't they unhealthy or something?"

Freddie shrugged. "She got them in a supermarket promotion, so I guess she didn't want to be wasteful or something."

Sam eyed him suspiciously. "It's not generic sauce, is it?"

"What do you care? You'd eat meat even if it were covered in sand," Freddie scoffed.

"Yeah, but I want to make sure you're holding up your end of the deal."

Freddie wasn't sure how it mattered, but he wasn't about to lie to her (never a good idea when food was involved). "It's Schneider's. Happy?"

Sam actually hopped up and down and clapped her hands together. Freddie hated to admit it, but it was kind of cute.

"Where's Mrs. B.? Let's eat!"

Sam was already seated at the table impatiently when Marissa came out of the bathroom. "Freddie, your turn to wash your hands."

"Sure, Mom. Oh, and is it okay if Sam stays for dinner?"

Marissa glanced at Sam, who apparently wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "I suppose."

Her smile tightened as she took in Sam's most likely dirty fingers drumming up a storm on the plate in front of her. "Hello, Samantha."

Sam waved at her in a half-salute. "Sup. I heard there were ribs."

"Yes." Marissa glared at Freddie's retreating form. "Please go wash your hands before we start eating."

Sam wasn't about to argue. Anything to get her ribs faster. She scrubbed up as soon as Freddie was done, and then finally, _finally_, those gorgeous slabs of pork coated in glistening sauce made their way to her plate.

Freddie and Marissa had a brief argument over whether it was proper to use a knife and fork (Marissa) or to use one's hands (Freddie). Surprisingly, Freddie won. Not surprisingly, Sam was oblivious to all of this. The call of the meat was too strong.

They munched on their meal in silence for awhile. After all, it is impolite, and dangerous, to talk whilst chewing.

Marissa did her best to ignore the mess they were making. Freddie had Schneider's Sauce all over his hands and general mouth area. And she wasn't even sure Sam was still there under all the goop she had accumulated.

Sam was finished first, and she couldn't contain herself from licking her plate clean. Marissa simply pursed her lips and shook her head. She just did not understand the relationship that Sam Puckett had with ribs. "Feeding frenzy" was perhaps the most accurate description.

Pretty soon, Sam was done with her plate, so she moved on to licking the sauce off of each of her fingers, her palms, and her wrists. Then she wiped her mouth with her fingers and licked them again.

Having run out of food, Sam turned to Freddie's plate, conveniently located just inches from her. She stuck a finger out to dip it into the sauce still on his plate, but he saw her coming and swiped her finger away.

She wasn't sure how it happened, but one second his sauce-covered hand was moving towards her, shooing her away, and the next second, she grabbed onto said hand and stuck the index finger all the way into her mouth. She removed every trace of sauce from that finger and began working on the next. By the time she got to his ring finger, she glanced up to see Freddie staring at her with a completely unreadable expression on his face.

_What am I doing?_ she thought distractedly. Sam's brain was telling her to STOP! STOP NOW! But she couldn't. The call of the sauce was too strong. She had to finish what she started.

Freddie's brain was screaming STOP HER! STOP HER NOW! But it felt…not bad, exactly, but…

…Oh, who was he kidding? This was totally turning him on, and that was not a good thing. Not at all.

His mother was sitting right across from him with a horrified expression on her face, and here he was letting Sam suck on his fingers. And he was _enjoying_ it. _I am a sick, sick person_, he wailed inside his head. STOP HER!

Sam really wasn't concerned with anything but the sauce until she was almost done with his pinky. But then it came to her through her pork-fogged brain that she was doing something highly inappropriate to Freddie, in front of his mother, no less, and…

…She wasn't quite sure how she felt about it. Sure, he was her first kiss, and he'd gotten pretty hot. Puberty has been good to the dweeb. But this didn't feel right. Not yet, anyway. She needed some time to think about this. _Me and _Freddie_? Is that even possible?_

She finally took his last finger out of her mouth and pushed his hand away. Freddie held it in the air for a moment, looking at it, but then he quickly got up and went to the sink, where he washed that hand for a good minute and a half.

Marissa finally recovered the ability to speak. "Sam, I think you should leave."

Sam nodded and got up. "Thanks for dinner, Mrs. B.," she said quietly. Then she hightailed it out of there.

Freddie caught up to her as she rounded the corner of the hallway, and he tugged on her elbow. "Sam…" It was only then that he realized his mouth was still full of the magical sauce. _Great._ He had no idea what he was going to say next. Should he risk drawing attention to his lips again?

Sam growled at him, and he dropped his grip on her arm. "See you tomorrow, Fredward." She began to walk away.

Freddie sighed. "Wait. Sam, is this just going to be one more thing between us that we never mention again?"

Sam stopped and turned away from him. "Yeah. I think it is. Bye, Benson."

"Hey, is the bet still on?" Freddie asked before he could stop himself.

Boy, if looks could kill. But she quickly composed herself.

"Yes. You have my word." It was the least she could do.

"See you tomorrow, Sam." He leaned back against the wall and watched her go. Images of her running back and kissing the sauce off his lips danced in front of him, but he quickly shook them out of his head. She wasn't ready for that yet. They could talk about this someday, but for now, it was just their little secret. _Except for, you know, my mom_, Freddie reminded himself. He walked slowly back to his apartment, trying to think of something to say.

Marissa just clucked maternally at him as he came back into the room. "Well, she's no Carly Shay, but I can get used to the idea," Marissa said, eyes twinkling.

"Mom!" Freddie gasped. But then he smiled. "I think _I_ can get used to it, too."


End file.
